


A Thousand Fragrant Posies

by goldenhart



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenhart/pseuds/goldenhart
Summary: Love has never come easily to Hornblower, but for Bush's sake, he'll try.





	A Thousand Fragrant Posies

**Author's Note:**

> Completely self-indulgent nonsense, again. A distant and happy future in which Bush survives Caudebec.

It had been almost two years since first William took up permanent residence at Smallbridge, and six months since Horatio began sharing his bed on a near nightly basis, but the joy at waking beside William had not yet faded. It was strange how something so simple could make a man so happy, but Horatio did not think too much on his joy for fear that further rumination would ruin it. Instead he allowed himself his small ration of happiness every morning and was, for the first time in his life, content to let something be.   
  
The sun had not yet risen when Horatio awoke in William’s room, the dusky blue light of a summer morning filtering in from between the bed curtains. William lay snoring beside him, one arm thrown over him in casual embrace, and Horatio curled back against William, a happy comfortable feeling spreading through him as he allowed himself to drowse.   
  
When William stirred some time later Horatio kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep. William touched Horatio’s bare shoulder with a gentle hand, pressing a kiss to his neck, and in spite of his best efforts, Horatio could not help but smile at the uncharacteristic boldness of it — boldness becoming more characteristic with each passing day. He rolled over to lie face to face with William.   
  
“Good morning,” said William. His smile was soft and fond, and a curious warmth bloomed in Horatio’s stomach. He kissed William before sentimentality could overtake them both, and William made a noise of pleasure in response and hooked his stump over Horatio’s thigh, drawing them together. The kiss deepened and just as the heat in Horatio’s stomach was building William broke off the kiss and pulled away. He was grinning, and there was a wicked look to his eyes that sent a sudden shiver down Horatio’s spine. The last time he had seen such a look a desk had been irreparably damaged by blue ink, a flower vase had been shattered, and both he and William had been left bruised, bemused, and stained blue in a variety of intriguing places. Whatever William had in mind would no doubt be delightfully ruinous for them both, and Horatio found himself smiling at the memory of the damaged desk. He pulled off his nightshirt and helped William with his, and then William was kissing him in that slow, tender fashion that he knew Horatio liked best. Still, Horatio wanted to feel more; he wanted to feel the comforting weight and warmth of William’s body pressing against him. He touched William’s hip to signal his intent, and with long-practiced ease William rolled on top without breaking the kiss. It was much better like this; now Horatio was able to touch all of William at once, to touch the scars that covered William’s side, to feel the strong muscles of his back and run his fingers down the length of his spine. William moaned into Horatio’s mouth and Horatio touched his spine again, running his fingers from William’s neck down to his tailbone.  
  
“Sir,” William panted into Horatio’s neck, forgetting himself as he so often did in the heat of passion.   
  
“Good?” Horatio asked, repeating his actions. It was delightful to tease William so, to see a man normally so stern and reserved writhe and pant and beg without an ounce of shame. No doubt William enjoyed watching him do the same.   
  
“Damn,” gasped William. “Damn it. Not like this. I wanted to…” Horatio touched him again, and William made a frustrated noise. “Stop that,” he said sharply, then flushed on hearing the tone in his voice.  
  
“What did you want?”   
  
“I wanted you to simply enjoy yourself — I didn’t want you to have to think about a thing.”  
  
“Then I yield.”  
  
William blinked at that, surprised. “Then…”  
  
“I yield.” He leaned up and kissed William as if sealing some covenant. “I expect you to follow through.” Once, he would have had to command William to take charge, but time had brought with it all manner of changes to them both. William smiled.   
  
“As you wish,” he said, and began to kiss his way down Horatio’s body. Horatio yielded to him without reservation; he had learned long ago there was sweetness in surrender.   
  
Afterwards, William rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his breeches with practiced ease. His shirt remained on its hook in readiness for wear after he shaved. He looked back at Horatio lying sprawled on the mattress, limp as a fish, and smiled at the sight.   
  
“You make a pretty sight,” said William, attaching his wooden leg over the protective sock he wore on his stump and adjusting the straps.  
  
Horatio groaned and nudged William in the ribs with his foot. “You rob me of my wits,” he complained. William grinned indulgently and patted Horatio’s thigh.   
  
“Come along. I could use some breakfast, and no doubt Richard will wish to see you in a few hours.”  
  
The mention of his son was enough to rouse Horatio. He rose from the bed and washed and shaved quickly, not caring that the water was cold; if cold water was the price he had to pay for a morning with William it was a trifling price. He was aware that William was watching him, and after he poured the water from the basin into the slop bucket he turned, suddenly self-conscious.   
  
“What?”   
  
“I like looking at you,” said William, rising and coming over to where Horatio stood. He touched Horatio’s smooth cheek. “You still look as you did when first we met.” It was not true, but the conviction on William’s face almost made Horatio believe it.   
  
“Twenty years now,” Horatio said. He tried to equate the hardbitten lieutenant who’d come aboard the Renown as she lay in the Hamoaze all those years ago with the beloved friend standing before him now and found he could not reconcile one with the other. “You do not look as you did,” he said, and regretted his words when he saw the pained look on William’s face. “I only meant…”  
  
“My scars. My leg.”  
  
“No,” he said, fumbling for words to soothe the hurt. “I meant that I did not see you then as I do now. I did not love you then.”  
  
William smiled, struck shy, and took Horatio’s hand. The topic of love was not one that had ever come easy to either of them, but William had always been brave and so it was he who first spoke of it. Horatio had spoken of love to William no more than a handful of times, and rarely consciously; after years of hollow words to Maria he was forever uncertain of his sincerity. Yet there was a part to him that refused to believe his words of affection, whether said in the throes of passion or in the quiet moments before sleep, were false.   
  
“You love me now, then,” William said, kissing Horatio’s fingers. It was said lightly, but there was doubt in his voice.  
  
Horatio flushed and pulled his hand away, flustered at being exposed. An old, buried part of him wanted to lash out, to deny his affection for William, to mock William for the love he bore, but he knew he could not do that. It still brought him shame to think of the many petty cruelties he had inflicted upon William for no better reason than his own insecurity and his frustration with William’s loyalty. William deserved better than what little he could offer, but he would offer it nonetheless.  
  
On an instinct he reached out and touched William’s side, brushing his thumb over the warm, scarred skin beneath. “I remember the first time you told me you loved me,” he said softly.  
  
“Before Caudebec.” William’s face darkened.  
  
“Yes. The afternoon Brown stood guard at my door while you and I… well, you know. Did a tricky bit of navigation work. And then after, we were lying there and you said—”   
  
“I said I never knew it was possible to love someone as much as I love you,” William murmured, staring at the floor. “And then you cleared your throat and got up, and I left before I could disgrace myself further.” The memory of his humiliation was evidently still painful; he fidgeted beneath Horatio’s touch and kept his eyes cast downwards. “I’d never said that sort of thing before to anyone,” he continued. “I hadn’t meant to, only — you have always robbed me of my defences. Please, Horatio, can’t we speak of something else?”   
  
But William didn’t know — couldn’t know — what his words had meant to Horatio, much as they had confused and disquieted him. The thought that William should love him in spite of knowing him had frightened Horatio; he had no notion of what to do with such affection. Maria had loved him too, but she had not known him as William did: she had loved the man he made himself out to be. There was no hiding behind such a façade with William, and his declaration had cast into doubt everything Horatio thought to be true.   
  
He touched William’s face, desperate to make William understand. “I realised I was wrong, William. I was wrong to think that I was incapable of love, I was wrong to think that our arrangement was borne out of simple necessity, without any affection or desire. You were brave and I was cowardly, and—”   
  
“You’re no coward,” said William, those frank blue eyes alight with fierce determination.   
  
“I was. It took nearly losing you for me to realise what you meant to me. I was a coward, and I let myself believe I could never love you. But I did. I do. And my only regret is that I haven’t loved you half so well as you’ve loved me.”  
  
William turned pink around the ears. “There’s no need for that,” he said, a little gruffly.   
  
Horatio wasn’t listening. “I ought to tell you every day,” he said, determined. William looked horrified.   
  
“Good God, sir. No, you can’t.” It was just like William to balk at the mere whiff of equality between them both, and Horatio glowered at him, frustrated.   
  
“Don’t be pig-headed, William. I’m trying to tell you of my affection, not inviting you to commit mutiny.”  
  
“No, I only mean…” William sighed. “I know you, Horatio. You’d make it your duty, but it wouldn’t mean anything after a while, do you see? It would become hollow.” He stroked Horatio’s cheek. “I know you love me. You don’t need to tell me that. It was you who asked me to come live with you here.”  
  
“ _Come live with me and be my love,_ ” Horatio quoted quietly.   
  
“Yes. You asked me to live with you by quoting poetry. You were so nervous about it.”  
  
“I was not.” It was a lie, but Horatio would be damned if he let William get the better of him.   
  
“You were,” said William, gentle but teasing. “You had to use a poet’s words instead of your own.”  
  
Horatio tried not to bristle at the joke. He cleared his throat, aware he was red in the face. “Perhaps,” he admitted.  
  
“Do you know when I realised you loved me?” William asked, suddenly serious.   
  
Horatio searched his memory. “When I spurned a countess’ advances to drink with you in your cabin?” he offered.  
  
William shook his head, chuckling. “No. Not then. Later.” His expression sobered. “Le Havre. After they brought me back. I was lying there, half-dead, and you sat down beside me and you wept. That you should weep on account of me meant more than any words ever could have.” He paused, clearly thinking. “I never doubt your affection, Horatio,” he said at last. “It surprises me sometimes, that’s all.”  
  
“Then perhaps I should be more demonstrative,” Horatio said, and pulled William close to kiss him. “Perhaps,” he said, pulling away, “If I cannot find the words I should show you instead.”  
  
William grinned. “Aye aye, sir,” he said, and kissed Horatio once again. “You can show me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love one (1) man and he meets a bad end in the penultimate book, so of course I'm going to write stories where that doesn't happen. Denial is one hell of a drug.


End file.
